


Anywhere (feels like home when I’m with you)

by SoulLove



Category: Blake Shelton (Musician), Gwen Stefani - Fandom
Genre: F/M, I swear, Mental Health Issues, No one dies on this one, Slow Burn, Smut, mention of self-harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 21:04:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15252000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulLove/pseuds/SoulLove
Summary: “She took off her sunglasses and Blake’s breath got caught up on his throat when he looked into those chocolate eyes.He wasn’t wrong last night. They were the saddest pair of eyes he’s ever seen.‘If I must isolate myself in the middle of nowhere, I wanna do this on my terms, you know?’”Who is she when she’s not ruling the music world?Does he regret choosing the quiet farm life over fame?Maybe you don’t find love; maybe it’s love that finds you.Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/12146200518/playlist/72WjMAl1LEqcjLTxZm2oR0?si=uXok6xTtQ6e1G5WbOg2hcg





	Anywhere (feels like home when I’m with you)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I’m back! 
> 
> With this one, I’m experimenting with third-party narration. If it’s too difficult to follow the train of thought, please let me know. 
> 
> I’m gonna be using No Doubt/Gwen’s songs to help explain her journey, so pay attention to the chapter’s names! 
> 
> Also, I’d love to hear what do you guys think about this story, so please leave a comment!!

Introduction

  
  


_ Music has been a part of my life long before I could walk, or talk. Even before I was born, I believe. There was always music playing at our house. Mom couldn’t eat dinner without Emmylou Harris playing on the background. And even if I was in complete silence, there was some song being played in the back of my head.  _

 

_ My dad tells me I was always humming melodies, as little as four years old. Some he knew, some were completely unknown to him. That’s because I was  _ _ creating _ _ them. It was an automatic thing: if I wasn’t talking, I was singing. I didn’t even pay attention to it until someone would tell me to shut up. Music was a constant in my life that made me feel safe, protected… worth it. _

 

_ As I got older, I realized nobody else did that. It wasn’t as normal as I thought it was, and I started to feel this need to write it down. I couldn’t care less if they were good or bad; it didn’t matter - at the time - to me if someone would sing it, or even see it; I just had to get it out of me. Like a virus that you just have to cough it out of your lungs, not putting too much thought on who would be there to catch a cold with it.  _

 

_ Eric, my older brother, had the same need for an outlet like that. But the realization didn’t come so easily for him. He learned several musical instruments, from accordion, to banjo, to violin, to piano, and even bongo, for crying out loud. He started a band with some of his friends and would harass me out of bed to go to practice with him. I didn’t care about my songs, but he did. And he was not ready to give up on that fight.  _

 

_ So I stayed. First, as a mere viewer. Then, he got a lead singer to the band and a bassist, and I got “promoted” to backing vocals. To be honest, I think he just needed a girl to balance all that ~sausage fest~ happening on the stage. And once I held that mic, it was over for me. I had found my spot. Everyone felt that too and I became the lead singer.  _

 

_ Tony, the bassist (and my first boyfriend), used to tell me that the microphone was the magic ring that contained my superpowers; the second I touched it, I was a different person. Someone bolder, unapologetically, unique. Things that I used to do on stage without blinking, like commanding the male audience to shout “I’m just a girl!”, or do push-ups and purposely make sex noises to drive everyone crazy, I’d never, in a million years, do in my normal, shy (and frankly, quite boring) self.  _

 

_ Even before we got discovered by the main media, our concerts were packed with girls dressing like me and dudes singing my songs at the top of their lungs. I felt like as was doing something good with my life, with my gift, because I got to live my normal life the second I stepped out of the stage. _

 

_ Then Interscope found us.  _

 

_ Eric left the band.  _

 

_ Tony broke up with me.  _

 

_ I wrote  _ Tragic Kingdom _ , our biggest success, and our life just blew up in front of our eyes. _

 

_ I’m not blaming anything on them, to make it clear. It’s just life; if it weren’t them, it would be someone else. It could be worse than it was. But it happened like that and all of a sudden, music wasn’t even that important. All the label would talk about was sales, concert tickets, tours. And the music in my head stopped.  _

 

_ It took me a while to notice that, and I don’t know if it makes everything even sadder. I was in and out of meetings, red carpets, events, award shows… people screaming my name on the street. It took a toll on me, on my brain. _

 

_ On top of that, I am a woman. It’s harder for us. Yeah, you can say I got more out of it, like magazine covers, advertising contracts, a chance to start my fashion line. But at what cost? To name a few: body dysmorphia, depression, anxiety… anorexia.  _

 

_ It was too much to handle, so my mind shut down the only thing it could control: music.  _

 

_ We weren’t supposed to make it. We weren’t in on this - at least I wasn’t - to become famous. I just wanted to write songs, hang out with my brother and friends, and do something with my time. But we ended up being the biggest name on ska music and we had to deal with everything that comes with that. _

 

_ Isn’t it a bit ironic? The very thing that used to be the life inside of me ended up almost killing me.  _

 

 

  * __Gwen Stefani, singer-songwriter from No Doubt, on her book Just a Girl.__



 

  
  


Chapter 1 -  **Just a Girl**

 

_ So many reasons _

_ For me to run and hide _

_ I can't do the little things _

_ I hold so dear _

_ 'Cause it's all those little things _

_ That I fear _

 

 

 

 

Life was good on the farm. 

 

For him, at least. Wake up early, take out the cow’s milk, feed the animals, clean the stables, move the cattle… All that before lunch. It was an easy pattern to follow. He didn’t have to think about it; didn’t even have to be awake to do it: by the time he was fully aware of his surroundings., he was already halfway through the tasks. 

 

Despite being a considerable piece of land, it didn’t require many people to take care of it. Just a handful or workers, such as Matt, a middle-aged man who took care of the cattle, and his wife, Amanda, who would feed the chickens and help Blake’s mom, Dorothy, with the house cleaning and cooking, and Luke, who was practically Blake’s brother. Well, he was definitely as annoying as one. Luke was responsible for the horses, his pride and joy. He was meticulous and thoughtful with his herd, nurturing them to be sold later and used on multiple tasks. 

 

But the main attraction (and source of income) of the farm was the Bed&Breakfast. 

 

It was Dot’s idea. They had a huge house, with 10 bedrooms, that required too much effort to be kept. It was beautiful, a family heirloom that stood tall in the middle of the land. After Endy, the eldest daughter, married and moved away, and Mike, Dot’s husband, passed away, it was just Blake and Dot living in it. 

 

It was too quiet for their liking. 

 

Dot has always been an expansive person. Her welcoming and nurturing personality was being extremely underused and that started to worry Blake; Dot would wander through the property with nothing to do, no one to feed and, most of all, no one to nag about how skinny they were. 

 

Her cooking skills were known internationally, since she had her own cooking show in the 90’s and 00’s. She stopped after 15 years because Mike got sick, but people still talked about her and bought her cooking books. 

 

That certainly helped getting the word out about the B&B. When people found out they could rent a room and would be fed all weekend long with the famous Dorothy Shackleford dishes, a waiting line started to form. 

 

They thought about expanding, but part of their charm was the home-y feeling of staying in the family house, being part of the farm’s routine. Eventually, they fell into a steady flux of guests and most of the time people would rearrange their schedule to be able to book a weekend of a few days whenever they had available rooms. 

 

Blake wasn’t the biggest fan of the coming and going of people, because you never knew what to expect. Sometimes the families were nice and easygoing, others were demanding and difficult to deal with. But seeing his mother get so happy and focused on making sure everyone had the best time was worth it.

 

Besides, his job wasn’t inside the house, it was managing everything  _ outside _ of it. He only had to deal with the occasional curious child asking questions about the animals, or the  _ macho man _ type trying to be a hero and poking the wild reindeers.

 

There were times, however, that they would receive a rather usual call. 

 

Because of Dot’s famous past, she was known in the showbiz industry. Managers and producers knew her cooking and her reclusive, quiet mansion in the woods. So, whenever they had a  _ troublesome _ artist, not damaged enough to go to rehab, but not well enough to continue doing their work, they would call her and ask for a bedroom for an indefinite amount of time.

 

It wasn’t a common occurrence. But whenever that happened, it sent everyone into  _ earthquake  _ mode. 

 

Blake didn’t know who the artist was this time. Dot sat all of them down one night and said her name, but Blake didn’t recognize it and didn’t give much thought into it, not until it was just him and Dot in the living room. She had that wrinkle of concern in the middle of her forehead, steering her tea out of habit, not purpose. 

 

“She’s young, dear… barely 25 years old.” That explains the wrinkle. Blake’s brother was 24 when he got killed in a car accident. He had been drinking. 

 

“Alcohol?” Blake asked, on a short question that really meant  _ what’s wrong with her? _

 

“Apparently, no. Her brother was the one to book her room and told me she’s just  _ exhausted _ . I could tell by the phone call he’s really worried about her. I was skeptical given her work but Todd - that’s her brother’s name - promised me she doesn’t drink or does drugs.” 

 

“What she’s famous for?” 

 

“She’s a vocalist for a… rock... reggae band, I think.” Dot informed, waving her hand around. “He said the genre but I didn’t quite get it.” 

 

That wasn’t the type of people that usually stayed at the B&B, mainly because they were in the middle of nowhere, with poor internet reception and virtually no contact with the outside world. City worms tended to hate it. 

 

“Why here, in Oklahoma? I’m sure there are a lot of great five star spas that would suit her best.” 

 

“I asked pretty much the same thing. He didn’t give too many details, just said the family environment and my food could help.”

 

“Well, momma,” Blake said, getting up to kiss the older lady on the forehead. “One thing I know for sure: you love healing people through food.” 

 

Dot let out an amused giggle, nodding in agreement. “You damn right I do.” 

 

“Any additional things we need to take care of?” He asked as he was about to leave the room.

 

“He asked for NDA agreements. It’s on the B&B’s email account. Every employee has to sign them.” The request wasn’t exactly news, but Blake didn’t like it nonetheless. He nodded and mentioned it would be done by tomorrow morning. 

 

For Blake, the best part about living in a farm was the night sky. He knew his mornings would start early, but he simply couldn’t go to bed without staying outside for a few moments. Most of the time he just sat alone by the stairs on the porch of his house, separated from the main mansion, cold beer in hand in Summer or whiskey neat for Winter times. He enjoyed the quiet and the stillness of it, as if nothing bad was happening in the world, not when the night was so calm and serene like that. 

 

He decided to build his own place when it became clear the wave of guests wasn’t just a thing of the moment. Building smaller houses for the employees would save room for paying customers, as well as give all of them some privacy. Matt and Amanda got the first one, a little after their two-year anniversary - and one year after they started working on the farm. Luke got the second one right after he met Carol, his girlfriend, and Blake got the last one, reluctantly at first, but ultimately hopeful that it would soon be filled with a wife and kids.

 

More times than not, he feels like a fool for getting his hopes up. 

 

Occasionally, Luke would appear for a round or two of his drink of choice. Luke grew up on the farm with Blake, being treated like family every since own parents died. 

 

“Do you think she’s one of those diva types? The singer?” Luke asked as they opened the second beer of the night. It was a hot summer night, just past the weekend of 4th of July. The B&B had been completely booked for the holiday, but now they were enjoying a nice and rare moment in between weekends, when they only had a couple of customers. 

 

“I have no idea, man. I don’t know much about her.” 

 

“Same. I googled her name last night, but she doesn’t seem the party type, in fact…” Luke trailed off, pressing his lips together to hold back what he was about to say and choosing to take a sip of his beer instead. 

 

“What?” Blake insisted.

 

“I don’t know…” Luke stalled, embarrassed, but seeing as Blake wouldn’t cave, he let out. “I just.. I never seen someone so rich and famous look so  _ sad _ .” 

 

“Yeah?” Blake was taken aback for this information. Of all the things he was expecting,  _ sad _ wasn’t one of them. 

 

“She’s in a band with all boys, and it’s definitely not my kind of music, but she’s good. Her voice, I mean. Don’t know what’s wrong with her, but something is not right, either.” He took his phone out of his pocket and quickly browsed on his internet history to find her picture again. 

 

She looked beautiful, with platinum blond hair and blooded-red lips, all dressed up to attend a seemingly important event. Her arm was linked to a man hith hair longer than usual and sharp features, also good-looking and dressed in a suit without a tie on, but neither seemed pleased by the arrangement. The girl on the picture was thin, almost  _ too thin _ , with a ghost-like appearance underneath the makeup. Her lips were smiling, but that didn’t reach her beautiful, warm chocolate brown eyes. 

 

It could just be a isolated pic; they could have been in a fight moments before the appearance; or it just could be a bad day for her. He couldn’t think of a reason for someone to be sad when they had fame and fortune. But then again, his life was the polar opposite of that. 

 

Luke put his phone back on his pocket and reached back for his beer. They stayed a moment in silence, drinking their beer and looking at the starry sky. 

 

However, Blake couldn’t stop thinking about the girl with lonesome eyes. 

 

“What’s her name again?” 

 

“Hm.. it’s Gwen. Gwen Stefani.” 

 

Blake hummed in response, trying to set up a mental note to search that name later, once Luke went home. That picture sparked his curiosity. 

 

Luke cleared out his throat, indicating that he wanted to change the subject and Blake straightened his back to face his friend. 

 

“So… I’m thinking about asking Caroline to marry me.” 

 

_ Well, it took you long enough _ , Blake thought with a smile. “That’s amazing, man. I’m happy for you.” He patted Luke’s back in a display of support. Caroline was the perfect match for Luke, and right after a few weeks of dating that became clear for everyone. She was calm and collected, shy and loving, someone that took really good care of him. Being an orphan for most of his life, Luke appreciated the tiny little gestures that most people took it for granted. 

 

“I figured out I’d better wife her up before she realizes she can do better than me, you know?” Luke jokingly said with a laugh. 

 

“That’s a smart move.” Blake embarked on their little banter. “Picked out a ring yet?” 

 

“Yeah, I have my mom’s ring, actually. Pretty much the last thing I have of them.” 

 

“I’m sure Carol will love it.” 

 

“I’m counting on that, man. Don’t know what I’ll do if I have to live without that girl.” 

 

Blake chuckled and took the last sip of his beverage. Although he couldn’t be happier for his buddy, a little part of him was jealous. There was a time he thought he had the same. A girl by his side, to whom he wanted to give a ring and his last name. Someone to wait for him at home and live a quiet life with. 

 

The betrayal still stung sometimes. 

 

He was pulled out of his thoughts when Luke got up and said his goodbyes. 

 

————-

 

“Honey, could you do me a favor?” Dot called him in the barn the next day, right after lunchtime. Blake was supervising the arrival of a few supplies they would need when it came the time to sow the corn. He cleaned his hands in a rug tossed nearby and approached his mother. “Can you watch the front desk for a couple hours? Amanda and I are heading the town to stock up our pantry for the weekend. Our special guest should arrive tomorrow and I want to make her feel at home.” 

 

“You say that about every guest, mom.” Managing the front desk was Blake’s least favorite activity, but since he was a good ol’ mama’s boy, he’d do it without complaining. 

 

Dot chuckled. “We should head back before 5. We don’t have anyone scheduled to arrive or checkout today so you should be just fine.” 

 

“Don’t worry about me. Go.” His mom placed a kiss on his right cheek and he headed back to the main house to play desk babysitter for the afternoon.

 

The time passed terribly slowly. He made a snack, chatted with a few guests, indicated activities for the day and entertained a particularly insistent child he may or may not have scarred for life after telling him how sausages are  _ really  _ made from. 

 

It was a little after 4 when he heard a car coming by the road the lead to the mansion. He checked the time and thanked the heavens for his mom coming back earlier than predicted. 

 

Only when he heard the door opening he realized it wasn’t his mom. 

 

Her scent was the first to reach him. She smelled like mint and peaches, an interesting combination that intrigued him. She was dressed modestly, a simple jeans and white top combination. Her hair was up in a bun and the huge sunglasses were hiding most of her features. The only thing standing out were the combat boots on her feet. If it wasn’t for that, he could have taken her for just a homebody. But those boots - and the fact that her stomach was bare - gave her away immediately. She wasn’t from here and that could only mean one thing.

 

“Hi.” She spoke first, her voice timid and low. “I’m Gwen. I believe I have a reservation in my name.” 

 

It took him a while to find the words. “Yeah, sorry, we weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.” Blake hurried to check the calendar to see if he had a room ready and available to place her. 

 

She looked apologetic. “I know, I’m sorry. But I wanted to drive here myself and scaping a day earlier was the only way I could do that alone.” She took off her sunglasses and Blake’s breath got caught up on his throat when he looked into those chocolate eyes. He wasn’t wrong last night.  _ They were the saddest pair of eyes he’s ever seen.  _ “If I must isolate myself in the middle of nowhere, I wanna do this on my terms, you know?” She tried to smile by saying that, but it just came out bitter. 

 

“Did you drive here all the way from California?” He remembered his mom saying something about her living in Los Angeles. Driving all the way down here was about 22-24 hours straight. Doing this by herself was dangerous and tiring. But she shook her head no.

 

“Oh no, I wish. I had trouble enough renting a car in Dallas, where we finished the tour last night. Todd and Eric wanted to bring me here by helicopter, imagine that.” She looked mildly terrified by the thought, and Blake couldn’t imagine having enough money to rent a helicopter just for that short distance. Her life was stunningly different than his. 

 

“I hardly can.” He said lowly, and it kinda came out as if he was poking fun at her. She tilted her head and stared at him, but he thought it was best to stay quiet and not make a bigger mess than he already made.

 

Thankfully, they had two rooms ready and he decided to put her in the one that had a view to the sunflower field. They had a habit of growing a acre or two because the seeds were a good commodity, and the guests loved it, taking pictures and even staging photoshoots to use it as background. “Alright, your room is ready and waiting for you. Are your bags in the car? I can pick them up for you.” 

 

“Oh, that’s okay, I only have this one.” She pointed at her feet. It wasn’t even a big bag, just a plain black, medium-sized one. 

 

Blake pressed his lips together to avoid saying something stupid and just nodded, going around the desk and reaching for the bag handles. “If you follow me, I’ll get you settled.” 

 

“Please, lead the way.” 

 

They climbed the stairs in silence, stopping only when they reached the right door. Whether it was by chance or purpose, his mother left the window open and the curtains tied by the sides, so the first thing they saw when they entered the room was the sunflower field in the horizon. Gwen gasped, surprised, and approached the window. 

 

“How did you guys know? Did Todd mentioned this to you?” Her voice was strangled and Blake could swear he saw tears in her eyes before she turned her back to him.

 

“I’m sorry, tell us what?” 

 

“The sunflowers… they are my favorite.” Gwen said almost in a whisper, facing the view completely, making an unusual amount of effort just to swallow. She took a deep breath, pulling her shoulders up and then down.

 

“We didn’t know, but I’m glad you like it.” He congratulated himself mentally for having this idea. Maybe he wouldn’t screw everything up after all. “You can visit the field if you’d like, just come in the daylight to avoid wild animals in your way and don’t pick any flowers, we need them in the ground until August.” 

 

Gwen nodded in understanding, saying nothing more. He placed her bag on top of a desk across the bed and decided to give her some privacy. She was still amazed by the view and barely registered the sound.

 

“Well, I’ll be downstairs if you need anything else. Dinner will be served at 7, but the kitchen is open if you want to serve yourself on some other time. My mother leaves dishes ready to go in the big fridge, just take whatever you want.” 

 

She looked at him as if food were a foreign concept to her, and judging by the bones poking out of her spine, maybe it was. Since she didn’t respond, Blake took it as a queue to go and turned his back to leave and she called him back. 

 

“Thank you…?” She said in a hurry, as if she just remembered she wasn’t alone. 

 

“Blake. My name’s Blake.”

 

“Thank you, Blake.” Gwen offered in a tender voice. After a moment, she added, carefully. “Does everyone… I mean, did Todd tell you why am I here?”

 

It was a loaded question. He knew she wasn’t okay, but that didn’t concern him or anybody else besides her. They weren’t a medical facility, she was free to do whatever she pleased or leave whenever she saw fit. But he did hope she enjoyed her time here, hopefully enough to get rid of whatever demons she was carrying. 

 

No one, especially a pretty girl like the one in front of him, deserved to carry so much sadness with them. 

 

“You’re here to take some rest from your busy life, breathe some fresh air and maybe enjoy the quiet farm life.” Blake answered simply, giving her his best smile, complete with dimples. “That’s all we need to know and that’s all we care about. Whatever else you wanna share, that’s up to you.” 

 

Gwen had a mist of relief and gratitude on her face, and for the first time, Blake saw a glimpse of what she could really be when she wasn’t so tense. “That’s very kind of you to say, Blake. Thank you.” 

 

“Just call if you need anything.” 

  
  
  


Gwen watched as the man with the bluest eyes she’s ever seen get out of the room and close the door behind him. His accent amused her, and it was clear he had no idea who she was. 

 

The thought of being unknown to someone, like a clean slate was… refreshing.  

 

Wherever she went, fans immediately recognized her and ran to her encounter, asking for pictures and autographs. Although she was thankful for the love and care they had towards her, it could get overwhelming sometimes. She didn’t have the heart to say no to anyone so most of the times she just sucked it up and smiled for the pictures. 

 

Here, she could be anyone. They didn’t know her struggle, her heartbreak, her failure. They didn’t know how much of a disappointment she was being to everyone around her. 

 

She didn’t have music anymore, and without music, she was useless. 

 

When Todd offered the idea, she thought it was absurd. She was fine, it hadn’t absolutely no need to send her away to the middle of the woods, like as if they were hiding an embarrassing member of the family. 

 

But when she fainted onstage, it became clear she wasn’t okay. 

 

She flat out refused the idea of  _ rehab _ or even some  _ treatment  _ she didn’t need. She didn’t use drugs and rarely drank; parties were not her thing and she wasn’t sick. She was just worn out. The pressure coming from the record label, the media, her fans and even from her bandmates was becoming too much. 

 

It was more than a year since she last wrote a song. 

 

It never happened to her, being this long without coming up with at least a hook, something they could work with. But ever since Tragic Kingdom, nothing. She couldn’t hear a single key on her head. It was just silence. 

 

Then Todd heard about an Inn that a former TV Show host had set up on her property in Oklahoma. Being beach people - not just that, but  _ Los Angeles people _ -, the idea of a farm and nothing but miles of land in front of her both terrorized and intrigued her. Maybe this would be better than rehab. 

 

Besides, she doubted that these people ever heard the word  _ ska. _ The blue-eyed man on the front desk proved her right. 

 

Trying to keep an open mind, Gwen looked one more time to the sunflower field in front of her.  _ Yeah, maybe this could work after all.  _

 

She decided to take a shower and rest a little. It was a weird feeling, having a clear schedule and nothing but empty days ahead of her. She felt dizzy with all the  _ freedom _ . What was she supposed to do? 

 

_ Write songs _ , a tiny little voice in the back of her head offered.  _ But that would be work, _ she thought. And her heart immediately sank with the idea that writing songs would be something she was obligated to do.

 

_ When her life got so messy? _

 

She sent a text to her brothers, saying that she arrived safely and would be turning off the phone for a couple days. They wanted her gone?  _ Fine. I’ll be gone. _

 

Although… deep down, she couldn’t resent them. She knew they were insisting on this for her sake, because they thought she had problems. Even though they were wrong. She wasn’t anorexic, like that pricy doctor said. She was just maintaining her figure. There were a lot of contracts on stake here, she couldn’t gain a pound. Her italian heritage of larger hips and fuller thighs didn’t help at all, so she had to work extra hard and watch her plate. 

 

Gwen heard about Dorothy’s cooking and figured it would be best if she skipped dinner. She could grab a salad later, when everybody were asleep. 

 

To pass the time, she decided to take a shower and watch the sun set behind the flower field. The window had a place to seat, kind of like a reading spot. It was a beautiful, inspiring image, but she just felt anxious, thinking about the commitments she would be missing in LA. Had she lost the ability to enjoy the little things? Her brain was so wired on work that she felt  _ guilty  _ for taking some time for herself. 

 

The old Gwen, the 18-year-old Gwen would waste no time on pulling a handbook and start filling it with lyrics. She would be crying with how beautiful the sunflowers looked right now, along with the orange sky above them, and how lucky she was to be able to stop and witness that. She would write a song about how  _ grateful _ she was. 

 

_ The old Gwen was naïve and dumb _ , and she was the one that got us in this mess. 

  
  
  
  


“Did you tell her that dinner was at 7?” Dot was worried, and also kinda curious. She wanted to meet the new guest, but didn’t wanna disturb her by knocking on the door. She would come down soon enough. 

 

“Yes mom. But she must’ve been tired from the trip, maybe she fell asleep.” Blake offered, snatching a slice of bread of the basket in front of him. 

 

“Without dinner?” Dot peeled her eyes from the hall, where she could see if anyone climbed down the stairs, and looked horrified at Blake, who sitting on a stool by her side. 

 

Dinner time had come and gone, with the few guests they had this Wednesday choosing to eat on the porch instead of the dinner hall. It was a hot summer night, perfect for cold beverages and fish tacos. 

 

Dot had even prepared a special plate with veggies and pasta, in case she didn’t like tacos, but she never appeared. Now it was almost 10 o’clock and she probably would sleep through the night. 

 

“Mom, you’ll meet her in the morning, there’s plenty of time. Try not to look so upset.” Blake offered in comfort, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. 

 

“How’s she like?” Dot’s eyes sparkled. 

 

“Hm…” Blake didn’t quite know how to answer that. He was half expecting her to be arrogant, closed, but her humble personality threw him off. She actively ran off and rent a car to drive herself before her family brought her down using a helicopter. 

 

One other thing he didn’t know how to sort out was why did she look so emotional over the flowers. A woman like her must be used to people bending her backs to please her, right? Why a simple view would bring her to the verge of tears? 

 

“That bad?” Dot insisted, noting his silence.

 

“No, that’s not it.” Blake ran his fingers through his hair. “She’s… normal, I guess. Didn’t speak with her for that long.” 

 

“Oh.” 

 

“I’m gonna call it a day, alright? I’ll see you in the morning.” Blake leaned in and kissed her hair, saying goodnight. 

 

No more than five minutes after, Dot was cleaning the counter when she heard steps behind her. Thinking it was Blake, she said “Forgot something, honey?”

 

But instead, a quiet, feminine voice replied. “Sorry, I thought I could grab a fruit.” 

 

Dot turned around faster than a lightning bolt in surprise. “Oh dear, I’m sorry! I thought it was my son. I’m Dot. Nice to meet you, darling.”

 

Gwen smiled at the country, southern twang in the older lady’s voice. “Nice to meet you too. I’m Gwen.” 

  
  


“Didn’t get the chance to receive you earlier, but welcome to Dot’s Inn! Want me to fix you a plate? Are you hungry?” 

 

“Oh no, I don’t wanna be a burden. I took a nap and accidentally slept through dinner time.” Gwen deviated her eyes from Dot’s and that brought an uneasy feeling to her stomach. Decades raising three little rascals taught her to spot when someone wasn’t being honest.  _ It felt like a lie _ . “But I’m not hungry anyway, just an apple would be enough.”

 

_ She didn’t have to come all the way from her bedroom if she wasn’t hungry. “ _ Are you sure, honey? I can have a salad ready for you in no time.” Seeing that the young rocker was torn, she decided to go ahead and start the salad anyway. “C’mon, I’ll be quick. Have a seat.”

 

Defeated, Gwen thought it was best to chose the path of least resistance. “Thank you, I didn’t mean to be such trouble.” 

 

“Oh, nonsense. It’s the most fun part about having a B&B. For me, at least.” Dot started moving around the kitchen as if she wasn’t even walking; she seemed to float, chatting about her love for cooking and creating dishes. 

 

After a short while, Gwen was already giggling with the stories the Inn owner was telling about her three kids. Blake, she learned, was her youngest. 

 

“Well, I’ll have you know that I have a special power.” Dot announced, just as she finished Gwen’s plate by the sink.

 

“Yeah? Which one?” Gwen asked, amused. 

 

“I can guess what someone wants to eat just by looking at them.” She revealed, putting the plate in front of Gwen. “Let’s see: you’re thin, and by the business you’re in, you wanna keep it that way, so I filled your plate with greens, tomatoes and beets. But your last name is Stefani, so I’m guessing you’re italian and, by that, that you love pasta. So I cut zucchinis and carrots using a special cutter so they look like spaghetti, cooked them  _ al dente _ with garlic and olive oil, and finished it off with some mozzarella, because let’s face it, there’s no fun in living if we can’t enjoy some cheese from time to time.” She finished talking and winked to a baffled Gwen. 

 

“Wow, are you some sort of witch?” Taking a fork, she took a careful bite from the dish and, as soon as the food touched her tongue, she hummed in pleasure. “This is amazing, Dot. Thank you.”

 

“You don’t need to be scared of coming for meals with us, honey. I won’t force you to eat bread and greasy food all day.” Dot said, in a serious tone, and Gwen understood she had been caught in a lie before, when she said she had slept through dinner. Blushing, she lowered her eyes. “As you can see, we southerns also know what a lettuce is.” Dot joked to ease the atmosphere, not wanting her guest to feel unwelcome. 

 

Gwen giggled and took another bite out of her plate. They engaged in a light conversation about the fun things Gwen could do to enjoy her stay, such as horseback riding, walks by the forest and even a day in the Lake Texoma, not too far from there. 

 

“We also have a piano in the living room, that you’re welcome to use, if you’d like.” 

 

“Hm, thanks… I’ll… I’ll keep that in mind.” 

 

Gwen didn’t have the heart to tell this nice lady about the nightmares she had every time she tried to play a song on the piano. Or a guitar, for that matter. Not that she didn’t play well, she did. It was just… the pressure to be perfect, maybe. To make something new out of the keys. 

Safe to say, she wouldn’t be getting nowhere near that piano, for the time being. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, should I keep going?


End file.
